Chapter 10: Supplies and Preparations

  Cedric’s mind was not what it once was. He knew Adon had asked him for supplies, but he couldn’t remember if she said how long they would need these supplies to last. Their entire journey to Allurna? For their week’s stay in town? Cedric pondered these things as he made his way to the office. Surely it’s just enough supplies for today. Lady Adon wouldn’t want us to load up with supplies for the whole week until we get settled. It will just be a supply list for today. Confidence surged through him upon arrival at the Resha Shipping office. This was obviously what Adon had asked for, just enough to get through today.

  Franklin Potts looked up from his meticulously organized ledger as the bell above the Resha Shipping office door chimed. He was still feeling slightly disoriented from Lady Adon's whirlwind visit, but he composed himself quickly, smoothing his waistcoat as the dapper halfling entered.

  "Master Cedric!" Franklin greeted, rising with a polite, if slightly nervous, bow. "A pleasure to see you again. Lady Adon mentioned someone would be stopping by with the provisioning list for her party." He gestured towards a fresh sheet of parchment and a newly sharpened quill on his counter, clearly expecting a substantial inventory.

  Cedric offered a large smile, tapping his long Eulatrian heartwood pipe against his palm. "Indeed, my good ….sir, indeed. A simple matter, quickly dispatched." He didn't produce a written list, but rather leaned confidentially towards the counter. "For our needs, we shall require... let me see... yes. One dozen eggs, a single good-sized loaf of bread, something with a hearty crust, if you please. And a respectable block of hard cheese, the sort that travels well for, say, a day or so." He finished with an air of serene satisfaction, as if he had just outlined the logistics for a royal banquet.

  Franklin blinked. He adjusted his spectacles, peering at Cedric as if to ensure he hadn't misheard. "One... dozen eggs, Master Cedric?" he repeated slowly, his pen hovering uncertainly above the parchment. "And one loaf of bread? A single block of cheese?" He cleared his throat. "Forgive me, sir, but for a party of... is it five? And with Lady Adon mentioning a week's wait for the caravan to Siscrix, and then the journey itself... Are you quite certain this is the full requirement?"

  Cedric chuckled, waving a dismissive hand as if Franklin was charmingly naive. "My dear fellow, perfectly certain," he affirmed, his eyes twinkling with misplaced confidence. "One must not overcomplicate matters. This list, as you see, covers the immediate necessities perfectly. Lady Adon has... particular methods for arranging longer-term sustenance, naturally. A phased approach, you understand." He puffed his pipe thoughtfully. "We wouldn't want to be burdened unnecessarily at this juncture, would we?"

  Franklin looked from Cedric's supremely confident face back to his blank parchment, then back to Cedric. The stout manager seemed to deflate slightly, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. Who was he to question the needs outlined by Lord Altin’s trusted associate, especially one evidently acting on Lady Adon’s direct, if somewhat peculiar, instructions?

  "Very... very well, Master Cedric," Franklin said, finally making a few small, hesitant marks on the parchment. The list looked pitifully short. "A dozen eggs, one loaf, one block of cheese. I shall see to it that these are procured from the market and delivered to the Resha townhouse without delay." He tried but failed to keep a note of bewilderment from his voice.

  "Excellent, Franklin! Excellent!" Cedric beamed, supposedly oblivious to the manager's confusion. "Your efficiency is, as always, commendable." Without waiting for an answer, he turned with a brisk nod. "Well, my work here is done. Good day to you!"

  And with another puff of cherry-scented smoke, Cedric was gone, leaving Franklin Potts staring at a supply list that would barely suffice for a light lunch for three, let alone an adventuring party heading for the far side of the continent. The manager sighed, picked up his quill, and wondered if all well-connected associates of the Resha family were quite so... unique.

  Cedric returned to the Frightened Hare and rejoined the group as they finished their meal. Marik wiped his mouth with a napkin. "So," he said, his gaze sweeping around the table. "This Resha caravan isn't leaving for a week." He looked at Adon. "What's the plan until then? This town doesn't seem to offer much in the way of… entertainment for a group like ours."

  Jimothy nodded in agreement. "I can probably find a local smithy to see if they have any interesting techniques or materials."

  Willow said, “I think I’m going to come here every day and order the chowder every day. If I spend the week watching the inn to see who brings in the shopping then I will be able to follow them to the market and see what herbs they buy. With a little research I can break down the ingredients in this chowder.”

  Jimothy snapped his fingers, rocking forward quickly. “I wonder if they have any venomous snakes in that lake! If so I believe I could probably extract their venom and keep it for that poisonous dagger I’m making you Adon!”

  Bristling slightly at the mention of poison, Adon did a quick check of her party’s faces but none of them seemed put out by the idea of a poison dagger. Perhaps pulling the wool over their eyes would be easier than she thought. Apparently adventurers were willing to put up with a lot of violence for the sake of their mission.

  “Well,” Adon said, changing the subject quickly. “Lets go check out the townhouse that Franklin told me about.” The party got up to leave and Adon paid for the table.

  They arrived at the townhouse after 30 minutes of searching. On the stoop they found a small package with a note attached. Dear Lady Adon, here are the supplies you requested. Please let us know if there’s anything else I can do to be of assistance. -F Potts.

  Frowning at the size of the package, Adon opened it to find twelve eggs, a loaf of bread, and a block of cheese. Turning slowly she turned to look at Cedric who was beaming.

  “There are the supplies you asked for” he said around his pipe. “Franklin was very helpful and I’m surprised they are already here. He’s a hard worker that one.” Cedric patted his belly and said, “Shall we then?” and stepped into the town house.

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  Jimothy frowned looking at the meager rations. “Does he think that will last us the whole week?”

  “I’m not sure.” Adon sighed. “Willow, will you write up a list of rations that will see us through our week long stay here in Laketown and the whole journey to Siscrix?”

  Willow nodded solemnly, looking after the halfling who had already entered the house. “I can help with that. Let me get inside and start calculating.” She followed Cedric inside while pulling parchement from her pack.

  Marik shrugged, nonplussed by the conversation and also walked inside, leaving Jimothy staring blankly at Adon.

  The week in Laketown passed in a flurry of individual preparations and explorations. After Willow diligently compiled a comprehensive list of supplies for their journey to Siscrix, she and Adon took it to Franklin Potts for procurement. The others found ways to occupy their time over the course of the week.

  Jimothy, ever the pragmatist, decided Laketown’s surrounding marshlands offered a unique opportunity. Venom, he thought, his mind already picturing the delicate mechanisms of Adon’s requested dagger. A potent paralytic, perhaps, or something faster acting for… emergencies. He spent a morning crafting several ingenious snares from scavenged wire and small, carved wooden components. His traps were simple, efficient. He placed them near promising-looking burrows and along game trails at the edge of the reed beds bordering the great lake.

  Later that day, he checked his lines. The first snare held a plump marsh rabbit, which he quickly dispatched and stored for later. The second was empty. The third, however, held his prize: a thick-bodied water viper, its scales a dull, muddy green, its triangular head flat and menacing. Excellent specimen, Jimothy mused, approaching cautiously. He had no interest in being bitten. Using a forked stick he had prepared, he pinned the snake’s head firmly to the damp earth. With a swift, practiced motion, he drew a small, razor-sharp skinning knife and severed its head.

  Jimothy repeated the process twice more over the next two days, securing two more vipers. He carefully extracted their venom into small, sealed glass vials to save for later use.

  Willow, meanwhile, embarked on her own mission: deciphering the secrets of Old Man Hemlock’s legendary fish chowder. Her direct approach had failed spectacularly. The innkeeper, true to his gruff reputation, guarded his recipe with the ferocity of a dragon protecting its hoard. So, Willow adopted a strategy of patient observation and subtle charm.

  Each morning, she arrived early at the Inn of the Terrified Hare, ordering a small bowl of chowder and a cup of herbal tea. Willow sat quietly, observing. She watched which deliverymen brought supplies to the kitchen, noting the types of fish, the vegetables, the sacks of grain or flour. On occasion she would engage the serving girls in friendly conversation, complimenting their efficiency, asking innocent questions about local ingredients. She even managed a few carefully polite exchanges with Old Man Hemlock himself, usually when he was grumbling about the quality of the latest ale delivery or the laziness of his staff. She offered him small, freshly baked honey cakes she’d made at the Resha townhouse, which he accepted with a suspicious grunt but ate nonetheless. Slowly, meticulously, she gathered clues she needed to decypher the chowder: the type of lake trout favored, the hint of smoked paprika, the unusual creamy texture that wasn't just from cream. By the fifth day, after a particularly insightful conversation with a talkative fishmonger about local smoking techniques, and a lucky glimpse of Hemlock himself adding a pinch of a specific dried herb to the massive cauldron, the pieces clicked into place. She returned to the townhouse that evening, a triumphant smile on her face, her mind already reconstructing the recipe.

  When she entered the townhouse she found Jimothy, carrying three neatly skinned and cleaned snakes.

  “Mistress Underwood," Jimothy greeted, holding up his bounty. "Productive hunting. I have an excess of fresh snake meat, if you have a use for it."

  Willow looked up, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the snakes, then brightening with culinary curiosity. "Oh Jimothy! How resourceful! I've never cooked snake before. I wonder what it tastes like?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jimothy said. "Perhaps your excellent chowder could benefit from a new, exotic ingredient?" He offered a rare, slight smile.

  Willow giggled. "Perhaps indeed. Thank you!"

  On their last day in Laketown, Adon found herself at a secluded clearing just outside the village, a place sometimes used by the local militia for archery practice. She had invited Cedric to practice with her, and watch her form. Her true motive was to observe him more closely, away from the others. She had brought a set of throwing knives. Cedric arrived, dressed immaculately in a freshly pressed 3 piece suit. He leaned against the tree, watching her practice. Adon was a decent shot, her training serving her well. Time and again, her knives thudded into the stump with reasonable accuracy.

  "Care for a few throws, Ceddy?" Adon asked, adopting her bright, slightly challenging tone. "Bet I can hit that stump more times than you."

  Cedric stopped leaning against the tree and chuckled. "My dear Adon, I haven't engaged in such… vigorous pursuits in many years." Yet, there was a spark in his eye. "However, for you…"

  He set down his pipe and walked up to the marked throwing position. Cedric made no move to take one of Adon’s knives. Instead, he simply held out his empty right hand, palm up. For a fleeting second, a faint shimmer, like heat haze, coalesced above his palm. Then, a slender, perfectly balanced throwing knife, its blade dark and keen, simply appeared in his grasp.

  Before Adon could fully register her surprise, Cedric flicked his wrist with casual, almost lazy grace. The knife flew, a silent blur, and embedded itself dead center in the stump with a solid thunk. He repeated the motion twice more, each time summoning a new knife from thin air, each throw perfectly aimed. Three knives quivered in a tight, precise triangle.

  Adon stared, her carefully constructed composure momentarily shaken. "Ceddy… where did those come from?"

  Cedric retrieved his pipe, offering her an enigmatic smile. "A small talent I possess, my dear. Useful for… discouraging pests."

  "Can I… can I try one?" Adon asked, her curiosity overriding her surprise.

  "Be my guest," Cedric said, holding out his empty hand again. Another knife materialized. He handed it to her. It felt cool, perfectly weighted in her palm. Adon held it up, examining it. While she was looking, the dark metal of the knife seemed to waver, then crumble into fine, black dust that drifted away on the breeze.

  Adon looked from the disappearing dust back to Cedric, who was regarding her with that same unreadable smile. "Ah, yes," he said mildly. "They don't last long once they leave my influence. A temporary sort of magic. Sufficient for their purpose, however." Adon looked to the stump and all three of his knives had disappeared.

  Apparently he could produce a weapon at will, strike with deadly accuracy, and leave no trace. It was an assassin’s skill, perfectly suited to his carefully crafted persona of a harmless, if wealthy, broker.

  "Impressive, Ceddy," Adon said, her voice carefully light, though her mind was racing with new calculations about the halfling. "Very impressive."

  "One picks up various… hobbies… over the years," he replied vaguely, picking up his pipe again. “Now, would you like to try to best me again?”

  They chatted amicably for another hour while they threw knives. The conversation wandered between hypothetical trade scenarios for the Resha family and the challenges of the upcoming journey to Allurna. Adon played her part, asking seemingly innocent questions, while Cedric offered sage, if occasionally fragmented, advice. Beneath the surface of their polite conversation, a new layer of awareness had formed. Adon now knew Cedric was far more dangerous, and far more magically adept, than he let on. And Cedric, she suspected, had intentionally let her peek behind the curtain. The game between them had subtly, irrevocably shifted.

  The next day’s journey would be interesting indeed.